One Million and One
by The Rogue Lion
Summary: Cynder was the strongest person Spyro knew. She had been forced to commit countless atrocities under Malefor's influence and was stuck with the memories of having done those heinous acts. Everyday, she strove and struggled to make up for her past—even if she hadn't been the one responsible. If he had the power to lift this burden off her shoulders, Spyro would do it in a heartbeat.
1. Chapter 1

**Part One**

The wind was still and the air was silent. Spyro gazed up at the night sky with his mouth agape. Hundreds upon thousands of stars lit up the blackness above him and the celestial moons bathed the area around him in a soft glow. He scanned the stars, searching for the constellations Volteer had shown him and Cynder in their recent lessons. He only managed to pick out a few of them; he couldn't recall what the rest were. It's not like it mattered, though. He was out here for fun.

"Is this how you've been spending your nights, Spyro?" a golden voice rang out.

Spyro turned and found Cynder standing some feet away from him. He hadn't heard her land. "How did you find me?"

The black dragoness peered over the side of the cliff he had chosen for his spot. It was covered in grass and was empty otherwise, save for a fallen tree trunk some feet away. They were just beyond the outskirts of Warfang. "This just seemed like a place you'd go to," she said.

Did she really know him that well?

Then she smirked. "And I may have spotted you flying out in this direction a little while ago…"

"Of course you did," Spyro replied, chuckling. "I can't do anything without you finding out, can I?"

"Nope." Cynder sauntered over him and settled beside him. "So were you just looking at the stars or did you come out here for a reason?"

He shook his head. "I wanted to watch the stars. We never had the time to sit back and relax like this during the war. It's sad to think that we came close to losing something so beautiful."

"But we didn't," she said, "because of you."

"Because of _us_ ," he corrected. "You're just as responsible for saving the world as I am."

"I can't change your mind about that, can I?"

"Nope."

A thin smile played on Spyro's lips. This is what their exchanges had become over the last two months, evolving from short, awkward conversations to lively banter. They had grown closer since their final battle against the Dark Master—far closer than they had been before that—picking up on each other's personalities to the point where they could predict one another's actions. He had come to greatly value this newfound companionship in his black counterpart and he didn't want to give it up for anything.

And he hadn't been at all surprised when he realized that these strong feelings for Cynder had been something more than friendship. The warmth in his cheeks and the flutters in his stomach? He wasn't so naïve to believe that it was merely a coincidence that these feelings arose whenever he thought about her. He was fully aware of the fact that he cared deeply for the black dragoness.

Whether or not he loved her was an entirely different question. He had spent many nights like this contemplating the thought and it actually frightened him a bit. The concept of devoting oneself and offering everything he or she had to another individual was rather daunting. While he had shown that sort of dedication when he had taken it upon himself to save the world—with Cynder's help as he would always add—that level of commitment to a single person was not something he had thought about before.

Would he really be comfortable spending the rest of his life like this? With Cynder by his side?

It wasn't an unappealing prospect and there certainly weren't any cons to it as far as he could tell. But he was still hesitant to say that he truly loved her. And he knew why.

If he chose to fully embrace this, to embrace her in the way only mates would, it would end up in one of two ways. The first one being he and Cynder living happily ever after, the ideal scenario. Then there was the second one—the main reason behind his reluctance—rejection and the inevitable result of their relationship falling apart afterwards. He didn't want to risk the latter from ever happening and there was no way he could ever get to the former without knowing how she felt about him. He would only be able to find that out if she chose to tell him outright, assuming she did return his feelings in the first place. But why would she ever do that? It's not like she had a reason to.

So to possibly save him some heartache, he opted to temper his emotions. In the end, he was happy with the way things were. He could live with this, as long as he was able to keep her in his life.

"How many of them do you think are up there?" Cynder asked, pointing at the stars.

Spyro's brow furrowed. "I'm not so sure. I tried counting them all once, but I lost track after a couple hundred."

"Maybe you should pay more attention to Cyril's arithmetic lessons," she teased. He gave her a playful shove and she gave it right back. "But what's your best guess?"

He shrugged and said the first large number that came to mind. "One million?" He heard Cynder snicker next to him. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," she said.

He rolled his eyes. "What about you? How many do you think are up there?"

"Absolutely no clue."

Spyro snorted. He should have expected that response. His eyes then drifted towards the two moons and the image brought him back to a night three years ago, the Night of Eternal Darkness. The arrangement of the moons looked similar to how they had back then. That night would have been more breathtaking than this had it not been tarnished by the events that had transpired then.

"The moons remind me of that night, on the Night of Eternal Darkness," Spyro said suddenly, breaking the quiet that had fallen between them. "It's a shame Malefor came back. It would have been nice to watch the sky and the stars then."

"Yeah," Cynder said solemnly.

Spyro turned to face Cynder and saw a forlorn expression on her features. "Is there something wrong?"

She shook her head.

He touched his paw against hers. "It's okay. You can tell me."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and sighed. "I don't think about that night too fondly," she said. "It wasn't a good time for me."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"It's fine. You didn't know," she said. "And you're right, it would have been nice to look at the sky and stars back then."

The silence returned and this time it was accompanied by awkwardness. Both of them knew that the conversation wasn't going to end there.

"You want to know why," Cynder said, "why it wasn't a good time for me."

"I'm sorry," he apologized again. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to. It isn't my business."

"No, you deserve to know. You did save me after all." Cynder, pensive, gathered her breath then began. "When I was first captured by the apes, after that run-in with the pirates, the first thing that came to mind was that I had to escape. At the time, I didn't even know what they were going to do. I just knew that whatever their plans were, they wouldn't be good.

"Imagine my surprise when they said that the Dark Master was coming back. And that I was going to be his servant again. I tried everything I could to get away, but I was powerless in the end. I spent hours chained up, knowing I would go back to being that _monster_ unless someone—you—came to save me. I had almost given up hope when you arrived.

"The time I spent at the Well of Souls was the worst time of my life. It was like I was reliving my past and there was nothing I could do about it. I would give almost anything to have never gone through that—being a slave to _him_ —in the first place."

Cynder dropped onto her belly and rested her chin on her paws.

"I didn't mean to dig all of that up," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"That's the third time you've apologized tonight," she noted.

"Sor—" he started, but she cut him off with a sharp look. He cleared his throat. "Right."

"You don't have to apologize for anything you know. You've done so much for me already."

Hearing those words eased the guilt Spyro felt, if only just. "And I'd do it all again."

"I know."

He wanted to say something more, to try to offer her some comfort, but he couldn't think of anything. His mouth opened and closed several times. And just when he finally decided on a syllable, a flash of light raced above them.

It was a shooting star.

Their necks craned upwards in unison and Spyro's eyes widened at the sight. It temporarily washed away his thoughts and he became mesmerized by the streak of light that illuminated the area around them. Witnessing a shooting star wasn't something he had expected when he had decided to go stargazing.

"This may be a coincidence, but," Cynder said, drawing his attention, "I was reading a book the other day and it mentioned a myth about shooting stars. It said that wishing on one would make the wish come true."

Stories from his childhood echoed throughout Spyro's mind. "My mom said something like that once too. And she said that for every wish that comes true, a new star is born."

"How about we each make a wish then?" she suggested. "It's probably just a myth, but who knows?"

Spyro nodded in agreement and they closed their eyes. The purple drake paused for a moment though, unsure of what he would wish for. There were a number of things he could wish for—shorter lessons with Cyril, for instance—but they all seemed silly or petty. He opened his eyes, wanting to ask Cynder for any good ideas, but stopped.

The black dragoness was in the middle of making her own wish and a faint smile spread across her lips, one that made Spyro's heart skip several beats. His gaze dropped to the choker resting around her neck. It lingered there for an instant and he knew what his wish was.

He wished for Cynder's egg, and all of the other eggs in the temple on that fateful night, to have never been lost to the apes.

No one, not Cynder nor anyone else, would be forced to serve under Malefor's command. She would be safe from that life. She would be happy.

He shut his eyes and concentrated. Even if it was just a myth—even if his wish wouldn't come true—he still tried and hoped for Cynder's sake.

When the light faded behind his eyelids, he opened them to see her watching him inquisitively.

"So what did you wish for?" she asked.

Spyro hesitated. He didn't want to tell her, afraid that she might criticize him. "Y-you know wishes don't come true if you tell someone, right?"

"It's just a myth, though, isn't it? I think we can tell each other, at least."

He should have known that she wasn't going to give up that easily. "I, uh, wished for...for the people of Warfang to live good lives," he lied instead.

Cynder raised an eye ridge and shook her head. "I guess I'm not too surprised. You really are selfless. It actually makes me feel a little guilty about mine."

"What was it?"

She blushed and averted his gaze. "I wished for us to always stay together…" she murmured.

Spyro's own cheeks heated up. "Oh," he mumbled. "That's…a good wish…"

Cynder cleared her throat. "Well, we should probably head back to Warfang. Staying out so late isn't a good idea."

He nodded fervently, which was much more than he normally would have. Of course, this wasn't exactly a normal situation by anyone's standards—seeing as his heart was beating a hundred times faster than usual.

"Agreed. Wouldn't want to fall asleep during one of Cyril or Volteer's lectures." She snorted at that and Spyro stretched his wings, prepared to take off. The black dragoness, however, strode over to the tree trunk nearby. His wings fell back and he followed her. "What are you doing?"

She scratched something into its side. "Just leaving something here to remember this by." After several more strokes with her claw, she stepped back and revealed a simple sketch of a shooting star. "Now we can go."

Then without warning, Cynder leapt into the sky and left Spyro standing on the cliff by himself. He offered the drawing one more glance and smiled before taking off after his companion.

* * *

Blazing pain erupted in Spyro's side. His eyes snapped open and he tried twisting his neck to look at his flank, but his vision was still blurry from just having woken up. He laid on his back for ten agonizing seconds before he was finally able to see what was troubling him. When he did, he almost wished he couldn't.

A wicked scar ran down from his wing joint to where his hind leg connected to his body.

He reached toward it with a shaky paw and the pain flared up before he could even touch it—which, in retrospect, would have been a poor idea. He could do nothing but lie there in anguish and was at a loss for what was going on.

Spyro observed his surroundings and found that he was back in Warfang and in his room alone. The light filtering in from the window told him that it was mid-morning. Cynder tended to be out and about to take care of errands around this time, but her room was right next to his and she was the closest person he could think of that might be able to help him.

"Cynder!" he cried desperately. "Are you there?!"

The simple act of shouting left him drained of his energy, preventing him from making another attempt. He waited for the sound of pawsteps outside his door, but his heart sunk as he was met by silence.

Spyro tried rolling onto his good side in an effort to find somebody that might be able to explain things to him, but he crashed onto the floor and the rough stone tiles scraped against the sensitive scales making up his scar. He let out a whimper, not even having the strength to cry out. He looked up at the door in pathetic defeat, praying to the Ancestors that someone would come find him.

This time, he wasn't let down.

When Sparx emerged from a conveniently sized hole, Spyro fought back tears of relief. "Sparx…" he choked out.

The dragonfly's eyes bulged out of their sockets when they saw the condition the purple drake was in. It seemed that Spyro wasn't the only one to be shocked by the sudden appearance of his injury. Sparx rushed over to his brother's side.

"Don't tell me you tried getting up," he said, much to Spyro's surprise. "Day one without the bandages and you're already trying to push your limits. I know you recovered a lot faster than the healers thought you would, but you really should still be resting up!"

"What are you talking about? What healers? What bandages? How did I get this scar?"

Sparx looked at him concerned. "Are you feeling okay? Do you have a fever or something? Has the medicine been making you feel a little loopy? I know the healers said that the new formula might come with a few side effects, but memory loss? That's rough."

"Sparx, just tell me what's going on!" He let out a soft grunt and gently cradled his side.

"Okay, okay! Just calm down!" Sparx exclaimed. He wrung his hands for a moment and licked his lips hesitantly. "After you, uh, beat the big ol' dragon of bad alone and pulled the world back together—jeez, I still can't believe you did that, by the way—we found you lying unconscious on the ground and you were bleeding out super hard. The big guys took you to some healers and they did some freaky dragon magic to try to patch you up. They managed to close it, but you were left with a scar."

Spyro stared at his paws uncomprehendingly. He hadn't gone alone. Cynder had been by his side, regardless of whether or not it was her choice, and they had returned relatively unscathed. "But I didn't go alone," he said. "Cynder was with me. And when we came back, neither of us had any serious injuries."

Sparx hovered in the air wordlessly for a brief second before saying, "I know you might not be completely right in the noggin, but who the heck is Cynder?"

The purple dragon frowned in disapproval. "I know you two don't get along, but pretending she doesn't exist isn't funny and doesn't help anyone."

The dragonfly pursed his lips and nodded, seeming to understand for once. "Yeah…maybe taking your medicine will make things better."

Sparx flew back out the way he came and returned with a small vial of unfamiliar red liquid that was roughly his size. Had Spyro not be so utterly lost by what was going on, he would have made a remark about impressive it was for the dragonfly to be carrying something so disproportionate to his body size.

Spyro eyed the bottle warily as his brother set it down before him. "Is that the medicine you were talking about?"

"Same one the healers have been forcing you to drink for the last couple weeks; give or a take a couple doses."

He opened the bottle and sniffed it. The purple dragon stuck out his tongue in disgust. "What _is_ that?"

Sparx shrugged. "Beats me. They said something about it being made from red gems and some herbs or whatever. Now drink up!"

"Will it help with my..?" He gestured to his flank. Sparx nodded and Spyro reluctantly drank from the flask. He fought back the urge to gag. It tasted as bad as it smelled. He shuddered as the liquid traveled down his throat. Almost immediately, the stabbing pain he had felt earlier settled into a dull ache. He let out a sigh of relief. "So do you know where Cynder is?"

His surrogate brother shot him an odd look. "Like I said earlier, bro, who the _heck_ is Cynder?"

Spyro growled in frustration. "You know what? I'm just going to find her on my own." He motioned to leave the room, but Sparx blocked the way.

"Uh, I don't believe that's a good idea, bud. The old guys and the healers both said that you shouldn't be walking out and about. I don't want to get chewed out for letting you go outside."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm just going next door to _Cynder's_ room," he said. "No one is going to notice."

After some struggling, the injured adolescent opened the door of his bedroom and stepped out. He looked down the corridor and saw that no one else was there. He turned to his left and knocked on the door of the neighboring room, hoping that Cynder would answer.

"I don't want to burst your bubble or anything, but you do remember that that room is empty, right?"

Spyro ignored the comment and waited. Sparx hovered next to him, repeatedly checking for anyone that could spot them. The pair stood there for half a minute before the dragonfly tried ushering him back to his own room.

"Welp, nobody there! Now let's get you back inside before —"

Spyro pushed the door open.

It was a standard bedroom, not very different from the others located on the same floor. At one of the room was a set of cushions and across from it was a wooden desk. A small bookcase carrying several books rested on the wall above the desk. There wasn't much to the room as it was meant to simply provide a place for one to rest.

However, Cynder's room wasn't just a place for her to sleep in or for her to store her belongings in. The times he had been in her room in the past had told him that it was a place that represented her—who she was as an individual. But this place didn't remind him of her at all.

There were no pieces of art hanging from the walls. There was no second and much larger bookshelf to house her collection of books and scrolls. There was no stand supporting the piece of finely cut black crystal he had gifted to her just last week.

There was no Cynder.

"See! Empty! Like I said! Happy?" Sparx said.

Spyro's brow furrowed in confusion. "Where's all her stuff? Did she decide to change rooms without telling me?"

Sparx groaned and said, "Look, I've said this how many times already, but this room is _empty_ ; has been ever since they decided to move you into this place. Now you're going back to your room whether you like it or not."

The dragonfly flew up to the dragon's cheek and pressed hard against it to get him to move. He only managed to nudge Spyro's head slightly to one side, but it was enough to get the drake moving. Spyro dragged his paws across the floor as he tried to make sense of what was going on.

He was interrupted, though, by the sharp tone of Cyril's voice.

"Young dragon! What do you think you are doing!" In the middle of the hall stood the proud Ice Guardian looking down disapprovingly at Spyro. His gaze shifted over to Sparx. "Perhaps you can explain why our injured dragon is not resting in his room?"

Sparx brought up his hands defensively. "Hey, I tried to do my job! He just didn't listen! He wanted to check out this room for some reason and I couldn't stop him!"

"I wanted to check if Cynder was there, but…" Spyro trailed off. He looked up at the Ice Guardian. "Cyril, why is Cynder's room empty? What happened to her things?"

A puzzled expression replaced the stern one on Cyril's face. "Who is Cynder? And this room has been unoccupied for quite some time. In fact, you are the first resident of this floor."

Spyro looked from Cyril to Sparx baffled. The dragonfly then said, "I told you I wasn't kidding when I said I didn't know who you were talking about! Even Mr. Freeze here doesn't know!"

Cyril frowned at the nickname given to him. "While I may not agree with our tiny friend's choice of words, he is right in that I, as well as the other Guardians, do not know of any 'Cynder.' Are you feeling ill, young dragon? The healers have mentioned that there are some potential side effects to the medicine you have been taking." He eyed Sparx. "He _has_ been taking his medicine, hasn't he?"

"Of course he is! I know I goof off sometimes, but I'm serious when it comes to my brother's health!"

"I suppose that is true, given your more recent behavior and actions," Cyril admitted. He faced Spyro, concern on his features. "Are you sure that this 'Cynder' exists?"

Spyro nodded adamantly. "Yes, she exists! Cynder is real!" he protested. "She's been borrowing books from the library! The librarian can tell you! We went to the public baths last week! We ate at that new restaurant the other day!"

Neither of them looked convinced.

"We were out stargazing just last night. We even left a mark," he murmured. Gathering strength, he added, "I can take you there! It's just beyond the outskirts of Warfang!"

Cyril's lips formed a thin line. "I am afraid you won't be going anywhere, young dragon. Not while you are still recovering."

"It won't take long!" Spyro tried arguing. "I promise I'll rest after I show you guys!"

"You aren't gonna leave this alone until we see this mark, are you?" Sparx asked. The conviction in Spyro's eyes was the only answer the dragonfly needed. The drake's brother faced the Guardian. "Just give him a chance. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner he'll go back to resting, right?"

Cyril sighed. "I will talk to the other Guardians and we will see about escorting you there. For now, I expect for you to stay in your room. You will know our decision shortly."

The Guardian of Ice turned and left the two brothers alone again, one of which sported a grateful smile.

* * *

Spyro let out a grunt with each flap of his wings. It took all his willpower to ignore the pain emanating from his flank and to concentrate on getting to his destination. In the several minutes he, the Guardians, and Sparx had been flying, the purple dragon's focus had lapsed three times, causing him to dip in the sky.

The relief on his face had been palpable when he finally caught sight of the last place he had spent with Cynder.

Spyro immediately fell into a low crouch when his paws touched the grass and he panted hard, grimacing. Each of the older drakes eyed him in concern, but it was Terrador who spoke.

"Take a moment to catch your breath, young dragon. In the meantime, the rest of us can search for this mark you mentioned. What does it look like?"

Spyro pointed to the fallen tree trunk nearby. "It's a little star," he said.

Terrador nodded and the three Guardians began to inspect the log. Sparx, meanwhile, kept his brother company as the drake recovered. Spyro wouldn't admit it to anyone, but the flight had drained him considerably. The much needed break helped eased the strain on his body. Unfortunately, a moment's rest was all he would get.

"Are you sure there was a mark here, Spyro?" Volteer said.

"What?" he said, his mouth feeling dry.

"There isn't anything unusual on this trunk," Cyril said.

"You must have missed it," Spyro said, walking up to the piece of wood. He raised a claw to point out the star Cynder had carved. "It's right he—"

His claw hovered over an empty space.

"Where is this mark, young dragon?" Terrador asked with a frown. Spyro failed to respond and the earth dragon's frown deepened. "The healers did say that one of the potential side effects to the new medicine was having hallucinations."

"I'm not hallucinating! We really were here last night! We were stargazing! There was even a shooting star!"

Spyro's eyes widened in realization. The shooting star—his wish; it had come true. Cynder's egg hadn't been taken by Malefor. Knowing that his wish had ensured that she hadn't been exposed to that life brought a small bout of happiness to him, but it became overshadowed by a single thought.

What happened to her?

He hadn't at all considered what the consequences of his wish was; he had only been concerned with Cynder's wellbeing. But because of his rashness, he had created a number of new problems. And while Cynder's disappearance was one of the largest, the chief one among them was the fact that he no longer had the opportunity of exploring a relationship with her—platonic or otherwise.

 _There's still a chance that she's still out there. I just need to find her._

"Where did they go?" he asked the Guardians suddenly. "The eggs! From the night the temple was attacked!"

They looked at him oddly, unsure of where his question would lead them. Cyril answered, "They were evacuated from the temple safely, young dragon. We have told you this before."

"But where?!"

"Are you having memory troubles as well?" Spyro ignored the question and stared intently at the ice drake. Cyril sighed. "That much we do not know, unfortunately. We have tried to search for their location in the past—we still do now—but the results remain inconclusive. They could be anywhere or even…"

A sinking feeling formed in Spyro's gut. So that was it then. He had lost Cynder and it had been his own fault. Never again was he going to know the joy of her company or the warmth of her laughter. The purple dragon began to tremble.

Seeing this made the Guardians look down at him in pity. "Perhaps it would be best if we returned to Warfang. We can arrange for you to take a different medicine to help you recover and—"

"No!" Spyro cried. "S-she's still out there somewhere! I know it! She's just waiting for me to find her! I can start looking in Avalar!"

The purple drake whirled around and stretched out his wings, preparing to take off. But as he did so, his scar flared up. This time, however, the magnitude of the pain was far greater than it had been before. He dropped to the ground and writhed in agony. It was as if a few dozen grublins were digging their claws into his side.

"Enough!" Terrador boomed, slamming his paw onto the ground. "There is and never has been anyone named 'Cynder!'"

The sincerity in his voice caused Spyro to hold still for a moment, briefly distracting him from the burning sensation underneath his scales. As soon as the moment passed, the pain hit him again with full force.

"All 'she' is is a threat to your health! We will not allow you to further injure yourself so you can chase after some _hallucination_! You will be going back to Warfang where we and several others can keep a close eye on you until you have fully recovered!"

Spyro tried to gather whatever strength he could to rebuff Terrador's words, but he had none. He opened his mouth only to release a low whine. Everyone's faces grew blurry as tears filled his vision and he cast a final glance at the markless tree trunk before passing out.

* * *

 **If you somehow missed the bold letters at the beginning of this story, this is part one (of two) of the story I have been working on for the last few months. I would have finished this a month or two sooner, but I hit a rut sometime back in December. I don't believe I have fully recovered yet, so some parts of the story may feel a bit weak.**

 **I would greatly appreciate feedback if any of you could spare it.**

 **The second half of the story will go up in within the next week, seven days from now at the latest.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

A throbbing ache in his side prompted Spyro to groan and reposition himself on the pile of cushions he was lying on top of. Something rubbed against his scales uncomfortably, irritating him until he could stand it no longer. Growling softly, Spyro opened his eyes to find out what the source of his troubles was, but instead caught his brother's bug-eyed stare.

"Buddy, you're awake!" Sparx cried. "How are you feelin'?"

Spyro opened his mouth to respond, but a wave of pain passed through him. He grimaced.

"I'm gonna take that as a 'not good.'"

The purple dragon's gaze shifted to his flank and found a layer of bandages wrapped around him. "Sparx, what's going on?" he asked weakly. "Why did they rebandage my scar?"

"So now you remember that you have a scar?"

"What are you talking about? How could I ever forget about something like that?"

Sparx shrugged. "You were the one asking about how you had a scar in the first place."

"When did I say that?"

"A few days ago; the same day you started acting all weird and freaking out."

Lost, Spyro said, "I don't remember that."

"You mean you don't remember dragging the Guardians outside Warfang to show them some tree trunk?"

What Sparx said sounded ridiculous. How could he even manage moving a few feet with his injuries? He shook his head. "No, the last thing I remember was lying down in my room so I could heal. And now I'm here…" Spyro looked around, observing his surroundings. It was empty, save for a small table and a vial of red liquid sitting on top of it. "Wherever 'here' is."

"It's some room close to the Guardians and the healers. They wanted you close by just in case you have another meltdown."

"Meltdown?"

"You kept going on about someone named…Silver? Sander?" Sparx paused for a moment to think, but gave up shortly. "Ah, I don't remember. Was never really good with names. I can barely remember the old geezers'!"

Seeing that his brother was unamused by the joke, Sparx continued, "But yeah. You were trying to look for this girl or something, but none of us have ever heard of her."

"Why would I be looking for someone? All I've been doing for the last month is recovering."

"That's what we've all been thinking, but—" Sparx snapped his fingers. "Cynder! That's her name! I remember now!"

Spyro involuntarily shuddered at the sound of the name and a fuzzy picture of a dragoness formed inside his head. A set of six horns stuck out from her head and her tail tip bore a metal blade. He tried to discern more, but the image faded away. An uncomfortable feeling rose in his chest.

"What's wrong, bud?" the dragonfly asked, noticing his brother struggling.

"I-I don't know," Spyro said. He laid his paw over his heart. "It feels like I'm forgetting something important."

"Maybe it's your medicine? The healers said to give it to you if you woke up." The dragonfly flew over to the table and brought over the vial. "They said it's a different recipe this time too. They wanted to lessen the side effects or something. Anyways, drink up!"

The purple drake uncorked the flask and made a face when he caught a whiff of it. "This will make me feel better?" he asked, eyeing it. He shook the bottle around a bit. It didn't even move like a liquid!

"That's what they've been telling me!"

If it would make the pain in his side and the weird feeling in his chest go away, then maybe it was worth a shot. Spyro sighed and reluctantly tipped the glass into his maw. He fought the urge to gag and spit out the concoction, eventually managing to drink all of it. Once he was finished, he stuck out his tongue in disgust.

"That's got to be the worst thing I've ever tasted," he choked out. The pain previously coursing through his body, though, diminished greatly. The relief he received from the medicine seemed to be worth it. He quirked a brow, however, when he noticed the odd sensation he had felt moments prior hadn't disappeared.

"You feelin' better now?" Sparx asked.

"Not really," he answered. "I still feel kinda funny."

"Funny how? Funny as in 'I should get the healers' funny?"

"No, something still feels like it's…missing."

"I bet you're just hungry!" the dragonfly said. "You haven't eaten in a while, so that's probably it."

Now that his brother mentioned it, Spyro did feel a little hungry, but he wasn't sure that was it. Nonetheless, it was a good idea to get something to eat. "Do you think you could grab some food for me?"

"You got it, bro!"

With those last words, Sparx flew off and left the purple dragon to contemplate his situation alone.

Spyro's thoughts centered on the feeling in his chest. He tried guessing at what could be causing it. He suspected that it might be related to what the dragonfly had said earlier about his 'freak out.' He couldn't remember anything at all about that, making it difficult to draw a conclusion. But he realized something else.

He hadn't felt the sensation when he woke up. It had arisen while he had been talking with Sparx. He traced through their conversation in an attempt to pinpoint what might have triggered the feeling in his chest. They had talked about his scar, the event he had no recollection of, and then something about a dragoness.

What was her name again?

He stared at his paws for over a minute in an attempt to recall the name Sparx had said, but he found that couldn't even form the first syllable.

How many syllables did it have? Did it even have more than one?

Spyro's head began to ache from the effort he was exerting and the sensation in his chest strengthened. It seemed that thinking about it only made it worse.

He frowned. He was probably better off forgetting about the whole ordeal in the end. Putting all his energy towards recovering was smarter too. Perhaps, in time, the feeling would go away as well. It was all Spyro could really hope for.

* * *

Spyro did his best to sit still and ignore the irritation coming from the base of his neck. The cloak of purple and gold he had been asked to wear miserably chafed against his scales. Had an entire audience not been staring up at him, he would have torn away the fabric resting along his back to give himself some much desired relief.

Maybe that was an exaggeration. He wouldn't exactly rip the thing to shreds considering that the group of moles who had designed it had worked very hard to complete it in time for the banquet. But given the opportunity, he would have stuffed it at the very bottom of one his trunks at least.

He had to admit, though, that it was a rather fine piece of work—some of the very best he had seen. The cloth was a rich purple to match his scales, trimmed with a sleek gold along the edges. The gold extended into swirling, intricate patterns that led up to a diamond-shaped crest in the center. The crest was composed of four symbols—each representing the four basic elements.

It actually suited the drake quite well; he looked good. He had been told as much—a few too many times, he thought—by passersby on the way to the Great Hall where he and the other Guardians were now.

Cyril, Volteer, and Terrador also wore cloaks of similar fashion, ones that complemented the color of their scales and the elements they represented. It had been Sparx's idea, surprisingly, to wear robes instead of the traditional armor pieces they would have donned otherwise. His reasoning had been that the display of armor made them all look like they were preparing for battle instead of promoting the message of peace, unity, and solidarity the Guardians had intended.

This was very crucial in order to convince the newfound colony of dragons now sitting in front of them that coming to and staying in Warfang was the next step for them.

"On the behalf of my fellow Guardians and the purple dragon, thank you all for coming here today," Terrador began, reciting the speech he had prepared for this occasion in a deep, loud voice. "Four years ago, when young Spyro here pulled the world…"

Spyro started to tune out, letting the earth drake's words disappear into the background of his mind. He had heard them several times in the practice sessions he had been required to attend. In those sessions, all that had been needed of him was to wait for his cue to move to a separate table at a different side of the room. Until then, he would have to wait patiently.

He took the time to observe the large group of dragons of varying colors and elements sitting each of the tables provided. Many of them were stoic, focused on the speech. Others had wandering eyes like him. He noticed quite a few females—those close to his age and some several years older—giving him less than innocent looks and even a few males. His cheeks reddened at the attention, but he learned to look away.

"…will be available by the wall to my left if you have any questions or statements you would like to share with him."

Spyro perked up, recognizing his cue, and rose from his spot. A couple hundred eyes traced his movements as he made his way over to his designated table.

"Without further ado, this banquet has officially commenced!"

Dozens of moles carrying different plates of food spilled out from a pair of doors on the opposite side of the room from Spyro. The mouthwatering aromas caused his stomach to growl in anticipation, but unfortunately for the purple drake, eating would have to wait. Almost all at once, a hoard of dragons rose from their seats to meet the savior of the world.

Spyro made a brave face, masking his inner terror from being swarmed. The first one lined up to greet him was a young ice dragoness with faded blue scales.

"Oh my gosh! I can't believe I'm actually meeting _the_ purple dragon!" she squealed.

Spyro chuckled nervously and glanced at the horns adorning the top of her head. They were jagged and pointed straight back. His gaze dropped down to her tail tip where a series of spikes poked out from. He frowned, a familiar emptiness rising within him. He hid the smile well enough, judging from how the dragoness continued to shake in delight.

When she started going on about how brave and strong he was, he cleared his throat to cut her off.

"It was nice meeting you too, but I don't think this meeting can last very long." She blinked at him confused and he craned his head to examine the long line behind her. He cringed inwardly at the sheer number of dragons he had yet to meet. "There are quite a few others I would also like to meet as well, so if you don't mind…" he said, directing her away.

The female nodded sadly before walking back to her seat. The next one in line looked to be a fire dragon who was at least twice his age. Again, the purple drake studied the newcomer, noting his curled horns and frilled tail tip. The emptiness in his chest panged once more as the older drake introduced himself.

The exchange lasted just as long as the first, but not everyone was as easily convinced to cut their time with the purple dragon short. On one occasion, Spyro had required the assistance of a pair of moles to remove an uncooperative dragoness. After an hour of this, he decided that he needed a break.

Outside the Great Hall, Spyro inhaled deeply, letting the cool nighttime breeze wash over his scales. Much of the exhaustion he had accumulated from his meetings dissipated, leaving only the strange hollowness from earlier. He sighed and looked out at the city of Warfang.

"It's nice that the dragons we found decided to move here from the Eastern Mountains, but," he said to no one in particular, "it's going to be tiring feeling like this all the time and dealing with…" He grimaced as he thought about the dragoness who had refused to leave.

He took another deep breath and glanced at lights of the Great Hall. "I suppose I should get back and finish meeting with everyone." His stomach growled, reminding him that he had yet to eat. "Or grab a quick bite. Yeah. That sounds good."

Spyro started heading back inside, but paused, however, when he overheard someone talking.

"We're so late!" a voice cried. It sounded feminine. "There might not even be any room for us because _you_ wanted to go sightseeing! We could have explored any other day!"

He shook his head and chuckled softly.

"And _you_ just wanted to meet the purple dragon!" someone else said.

Spyro shuddered at the sound of the second voice and turned to the direction of where the conversation was coming from. The empty feeling in his chest began to intensify. He took a step forward.

"So? What if I do? It's not like we'll be getting another chance to meet him in person! I know that deep down, you want to see him too!"

"We have been best friends since we were hatchlings, Ember, but you don't always know what I'm thinking. While I'm thankful that he saved the world and all, I don't really care to meet him. He's probably some arrogant, stuck up jerk. Someone that young with all that power? I bet he has a hell of an ego."

"You shouldn't make assumptions about other people like that! You never know if they—oh!"

Spyro stared at the pair of dragonesses he had been hearing. One of them, presumably named Ember, was pink with golden horns and belly scales. Her tail spade was shaped much like a heart and she wore a red and gold pendant in the same shape. She stared back at him with two large blue eyes, but the purple drake hardly noticed. His eyes were locked onto the other dragoness.

She bore a set of cerulean orbs, similar to her companion, but the color of her scales were unlike any he had ever seen. They were a sleek silver complemented by the brilliant white of her belly scales. Metal blades stuck out from her wing thumbs and tail tip. Six silvery-white horns poked out of her head and the end of her muzzle tapered off into a beak-like structure.

His breath was caught in his throat and his chest tightened. It felt as if an invisible force was squeezing his heart in an attempt to make it burst.

"I'm so sorry for what my friend said!" Ember said. "She really didn't mean any of it!"

Spyro snapped out of his trance-like state, but kept his eyes on the silver dragoness. "It's fine," he murmured.

In the back of his mind, he tried to recall what they had said, but he couldn't seem to remember. The only thing he could focus on was the flurry of emotions he was feeling. One of them stood out among the others.

"Ha-have we met before?" he asked the pale dragoness.

Her head jerked back as if she was recovering from a daze much like he had. There was a hint of confusion on her features as well. "N-no, we haven't. We just recently came from the Eastern Mountains," she answered. She licked her lips and added, "But I was thinking the same."

Ember, who stood off to the side, looked from Spyro to her friend. It was obvious how enamored the two were with one another and that she wouldn't be getting the meeting that she wanted with the legendary purple dragon. She frowned, disappointed.

"I think I'm going to go inside," the pink dragoness announced. She failed to grab the attention of the other two, however, and turned around with a sigh. "Good luck, Caelynn."

Ember disappeared around the corner, leaving Spyro and Caelynn alone. Their gazes lined up and a hush fell between them once more.

A small droplet of water landed on his paw, prompting him to look up. When he only saw the clear, starry night sky, he realized that he was crying. He wiped away his tears. "Sorry," he said chuckling. "I don't know what came over me. I—"

He cut his words short when he saw tears also lining her face. Caelynn caught on and wiped those away as well. After she finished, they looked at one another then laughed in unison.

"So how have you been enjoying Warfang?" he asked.

"It's nice, but I'm still getting used to how open everything is. It was pretty cramped back at the Mountains."

"Your entire city was underground, wasn't it?"

She nodded and tilted her head upwards. "Never really got to see much of the stars either."

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"It is."

They spent several minutes gazing up at the stars, quietly enjoying one another's company. Spyro wasn't sure what the silver dragoness was thinking, but the faint smile on her lips told him that it was probably something good. As for himself, he felt better than he had ever felt in years. The emptiness that had plagued him for so long was gone and in its place was something that could only be described as wholeness.

In the end, Caelynn broke the silence.

"How many do you think are up there?" she asked.

He took a moment to consider her question. There were a number of answers he could give, but ultimately, only one sounded right.

"One million and two."

* * *

 **And that is part two of two. I'm not too sure on how well I was able to meet the mark for some parts of the story, but I do hope it was enjoyable and that it was clear as to what I was going for.** **The conclusion is pretty open ended, so there's a lot of places this can go, but I will not be exploring the possibilities in the near future for those who may have been wondering.**

 **Thank you all for reading and reviewing!**


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